


Missing Elizabeth

by Kaci



Category: Agent Pendergast Series - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child, The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Violence and fetal homicide later in story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:28:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26902123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaci/pseuds/Kaci
Summary: Elizabeth Keen goes missing on a trip to New York. Reddington seeks help from Pendergast in recovering her. This takes place in Blacklist season 3, around the time of episode 12 or 13. In the Pendergast universe, it's after Crooked River, and Pendergast is back in New York. But no spoilers for Pendergast as long as you know all of Constance's backstory.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

Mr. Kaplan sighed and gave Reddington’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I think you may be overreacting.”

“I am absolutely not. All her other check-ins were on time. She knows how important it is for me to know she’s safe. I never should have let her go alone.”

Dembe shook his head. “Raymond, Elizabeth is a grown adult. You couldn’t stop her from going on a vacation. And she didn’t go alone.”

Reddington pinned Dembe with the blank stare he used to hide exasperation. “No, she went with him, which is even worse.” He looked at his phone for the eighth time in as many minutes. “If she doesn’t make contact in seven minutes, we’re starting the protocol.”

***

At the Post Office, Harold Cooper shook his head and paced his office, his strides cut short by the phone cord tethering him to his desk. “I’m sorry, Reddington, but she’s not an agent anymore. And even if she was, we don’t start a manhunt because someone was fifteen minutes late making a phone call.”

“It’s not someone, it’s Lizzie,” Reddington protested. “You know how much danger she’s in after the past three months.”

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

Reddington’s voice turned cold and flat. “Fine. I’ll see to this myself.”

***

Aram heard just enough of Cooper’s side of the conversation to pull his interest out of the fog of tedious account traces. “Lizzie’s missing?”

“For all of fifteen minutes,” Ressler scoffed. “She probably just left her phone when she went to shower or something. Why she tolerates that man hovering over her every move…”

“I might too, if I’d spent twelve weeks on the run, framed for a murder I didn’t commit. Anyway, these shell corporation linkages are making my eyes cross. I’m going to run out of a coffee.” Ressler waved absently in response, his attention already back on his own work.

Aram took his personal laptop to the back corner of a favorite coffee shop that claimed not to have wi-fi, logged with the password he wasn’t supposed to know, typed in a ridiculously long URL, and danced through a series of hacks and exploits until he reached a black page with old-school yellow letters that spelled out simply “THE CHAMBER” with a flashing cursor at the bottom of the screen.

'MIME, this is GOLD-M,' he typed. 'If you’re there, answer me.'  
A few seconds passed, then, 'Of course I’m here; where else would I be?'  
GOLD-M: Remember that favor you owe me from grad school?  
MIME: Yes…  
GOLD-M: I need to call it in. I understand you know a guy in New York.  
MIME: I do not presume upon that relationship lightly.  
GOLD-M: I’m not asking you to. Just talk to him, and we’re square. Here’s the situation…

***

Reddington’s phone vibrated. “Aram? I can’t help you with the case right now; I have an urgent matter to attend to.”

“It’s Lizzie, I know. I assume you’re headed to New York now?”

“Yes.” Dembe glanced back in the rearview mirror at the slight softening of Reddington’s voice.

“I might have someone who can help. Can you be at 89th and Park at 6:00, up the street from the Guggenheim Museum? I know that doesn’t give you much time, but it was that or nothing.”

“Do you trust this person?”

“My contact was a friend in grad school. He knows someone else; I don’t know exactly who, but based on the stories the last time I got a few drinks in him… Anyway, he owes me a favor for helping him out of a legal jam over some shady stuff. I doubt he’s gone white-hat since then. But he hates being in debt.”

“That’ll do. We’ll be there…and thank you, Aram. Next to Lizzie, you’ve extended me the most trust out of anyone on the task force. I won’t forget it.”

***

At 6:00 on the dot, a classic Rolls-Royce pulled up to the meeting place. “I think that’s our ride,” Reddington commented. The driver stepped out of the car, glanced at the weapons the two men carried, and nodded briefly. “You’ll come with me, please.”

“Wow, this car is in remarkable shape,” Reddington chuckled as he slid across the backseat. “Is it all original parts? Surely it couldn’t be, this thing must be over 50 years old, but what lovely workmanship.”  
The driver merely grunted in response, and they spent the next twenty minutes in silence, eventually pulling up to a mansion. “Follow me; you’re expected.”

Reddington briefly locked eyes with Dembe, then shrugged and took off his hat. They were greeted at the door by a slender woman in her twenties with short mahogany hair, wearing a floor-length skirt and a blouse that seemed to belong to another century. “I can take your hat and your coats,” she said, raising her startlingly violet eyes. “You may go on through.”

“Thank you, dear,” Reddington replied with a gentle smile. He waited a few moments for Dembe to precede him and check for threats, but his bodyguard’s eyes were still on the young woman. “Shall we, Dembe?”

“Yes, of course, Raymond.” 

A short hallway brought them into a spacious sitting room with a high ceiling and light furniture that sharply contrasted with the man who stood as they entered. He wore a fine black suit that fit perfectly despite his height, but he was so thin and pale as to appear cadaverous. “Greetings, gentlemen, and welcome to my home. My associate Mime suggests that I may be able to be of assistance to you. May I offer you a cup of tea?”

“I’m afraid my business is somewhat urgent,” Reddington replied.

The oddly dressed young woman emerged from a side door and joined Reddington and the pale man around the tea service while Dembe stayed some distance back, ready to intervene on the chance that violence was called for. “Come now,” she said. “We must observe some formalities if we’re to work together. Surely a cup of tea isn’t too much to ask when one is requested to lend aid to a notorious criminal.”

“I see you have me at a disadvantage,” Reddington replied. “By all means, let’s have some tea.”

“Forgive me,” the pale man said. “I have neglected introductions. My name is Special Agent Aloysius Pendergast, and this is my ward, Constance Greene. You, of course, are Raymond Reddington, and your associate would be Dembe Zuma. Mr. Zuma, please do sit down. You have my word that no harm will come to your employer. You may keep your weapon as you wish, but please be careful of the teacups.”

Constance poured green tea as Dembe seated himself. She handed a cup and saucer first to Reddington, then to Dembe, and finally to Pendergast.

“Thank you, Constance,” Pendergast said, then turned his attention to Reddington. “I understand we’re dealing with a missing persons case, a Miss Elizabeth Keen.”

“And you’ll help find her in exchange for bringing me in?” Reddington asked. “I accept, but I’ve been serving as a C.I. to a task force in Annapolis, and they might require my continuing services.”

“I know about the task force. I also know that it’s an open question exactly who is assisting who. But you mistake my intention entirely. Yes, I am a special agent, but my superiors at the FBI have found it beneficial to keep me on a long leash. I’m afraid I don’t always take direction well.”

Dembe raised an eyebrow and glanced at Reddington but remained silent. 

“Very well,” said Reddington. “You’re right that it’s Agent Keen we’re looking for. She’s been missing for at least eight hours, and her safety is my highest priority.”

“Was she traveling with anyone?”

Reddington’s voice grew cold. “Yes, her ex-husband, Tom Keen.”

Constance spoke up. “Statistically, an individual is far more likely to be abducted by someone she knows than by a stranger. Can you trust this Mr. Keen?”

“Not in the slightest. But he wouldn’t abduct her; he knows what I’d do to him.”

“May we presume, then,” Pendergast interjected, “that he is likely the last person she had contact with before she disappeared?”

“He is,” Reddington replied grudgingly.

“Then I suggest the first thing we need to do is contact Tom Keen. Do you have an address or phone number for him?”

“Yes, I’ll make the call.”

“Excellent, you may use my study for privacy if you wish.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty short post. I think I'm more likely to be able to handle shorter, more frequent chapter updates.

Constance took Dembe’s cup to pour him more tea. “So, Mr. Zuma…”

“Dembe, please,” he interrupted, smiling warmly at the intriguing young woman.

“Dembe, then. How did you come to be associated with the notorious Raymond Reddington?”

“I’ve been with him since I was fourteen. He saved my life and then looked after me.” He stared down at his teacup as if it could tell him whether to say more. “Mr. Pendergast here referred to you as his ward. Perhaps your story is similar?”

“I fear I may have overstepped in my curiosity. Please forgive me. Perhaps we should speak of lighter things until your employer returns. Tell me, do you enjoy reading?”'

“I studied English literature at university,” Dembe grinned.

“How wonderful! Aloysius here thinks novels are ridiculous, but I believe the writers of the classics can show us the depths of the human spirit and help us better understand our fellow man.”

“Ridiculous may be a strong word,” Pendergast interjected, “but anyone can simply write down false events, and I find the majority of modern novels to be sordid, sensationalist displays of the worst vices of human nature. For literature to elevate the mind, give me the discipline of poetry.”

***

Tom finally answered his phone on the fifth ring. “Reddington. What do you want?”

“When did you last see Elizabeth?” Reddington asked urgently.

“What is this about? I know you don’t like me, but we are vacationing together. I don’t need you to keep tabs on us.”

“Apparently you do. Lizzie was supposed to check in with me at two o’clock. It’s now nearly seven. She hasn’t answered her phone.”

“Seriously? You’re having check-in times?” Tom laughed harshly. “It’s really insulting that you distrust me to that degree. I would never hurt Lizzie.”

“As dearly as I would love to debate the validity of that claim, we don’t have time. If she’s not with you, she could be in danger. You know the cabal wants her now more than ever. Where was she going?”

Tom sighed. “There’s a company called Heritage with an office here in the city. They do advanced genealogy work – records, DNA, that sort of thing. They have access to archives that aren’t publicly available. I got an ad in my email for a free consultation, and I thought it would help Lizzie, since you won’t tell her whatever it is you know about her family.”

“I don’t answer her questions because I don’t want her endangered by the knowledge,” Red said angrily. “And you’re a fool. Anyone could have specifically targeted you with that ad. You may have sent her directly into a trap.”

“Wow, paranoid much?”

“Forward me the message.”

“I really don’t think this is your business.”

“Forward it. Now.”

***

“Did Tom have anything to say?” Dembe asked as Reddington returned to the group.

“He sent her to a genealogy company called Heritage. We’ll need to see if we can trace this email address.”

“I can put Mime on it,” Pendergast offered.

“Can he be trusted?” Reddington asked. “Agent Keen is more to me than just a professional liaison. I don’t want to involve any more unknowns than necessary.”

“Mime has handled work of the utmost delicacy for me,” Pendergast replied. “And he is already involved, as it was he who brought your case to my attention. May I see the message?” Reddington handed Pendergast his phone. “As I expected, the office is closed for the evening. We can pay them a visit first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, do you have lodgings for the night? Proctor will drive you wherever you wish, and I can provide recommendations for excellent hotels and restaurants if you haven’t had time to make your own arrangements.”

***

“I’m afraid you misstepped this evening, Constance,” Pendergast remarked over a late dinner of sole fillets in a creamy mushroom and wine sauce. “If you’d waited until we were private, I could have told you that Mr. Reddington rescued Dembe from human traffickers when he was barely more than a child.”

“Not the sort of thing one would discuss with a new acquaintance,” Constance agreed remorsefully. 

“No more than one might want to explain being inherited along with the house. But I do believe you’ll both recover. In the meantime, what do you think of the infamous Raymond Reddington? I have to admit my pleasure at the opportunity to observe the man firsthand.”

“I was rather shocked that you were willing to see him,” Constance replied. “He’s killed so many people and has his hand in so many criminal enterprises. He did seem genuinely worried about Agent Keen, but most everyone has some loyalties. Complete emotional self-sufficience is rare, even among sociopaths.”

“And are sociopaths typically in the habit of rescuing enslaved children?”

Constance poked absently at her food, caught herself, and set down her fork. “A fourteen-year-old would be mature enough to understand what he was being saved from and likely to develop an intense loyalty as a result. A criminal like Reddington would have numerous enemies; a devoted ally might be a good long-term investment.”

“He graduated from the Naval Academy, you know,” Pendergast said conversationally.

“Dembe?”

“No, Reddington. A long time ago, of course, but the qualities the military academies look for aren’t those one would associate with an innate proclivity towards organized crime. He was married once, too. I believe there was a child. What would lead a family man with a military career to turn away from everything he appeared to stand for?”

“Perhaps he’s extremely skilled at deceit.”

“Such a suspicious mind, Constance. Still, I suppose you’ve earned it. Here’s something interesting, though. Naturally, I looked into our Mr. Reddington’s background when Mime made me aware of the case. As you note, he has quite a history of violence. Most criminals of his sort don’t hesitate to kill innocents when it suits their purposes. But search as I might, I found no record of his ever killing anyone who hadn’t already chosen a life of violence to some degree.”

***

“What do you think of our mysterious benefactor?” Reddington asked Dembe over a late dinner of mushroom risotto. “Or are you perhaps more interested in his ward? What a strange choice of words, especially for an adult woman…”

“She has beautiful eyes,” Dembe admitted. “And one could argue that you think of Lizzie as your ward.”

“That’s not the same thing at all. After her parents…I had a responsibility.”

“We don’t know what kind of responsibility this Pendergast may have had. Constance does seem a bit odd. It’s hard for me to say why.”

“She was made for another time,” Reddington said, making a sweeping gesture with his wineglass. “She belongs in a more gentle age. As if there ever was such a thing. But I understand why Pendergast wants to protect her.”

“We’ll get Lizzie back, Raymond,” Dembe replied.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starting to follow Lizzie's trail

The Rolls Royce came around early the next morning, with Proctor driving and Pendergast sitting up front to give his guests more space. Constance stayed behind to connect with Mime, but Dembe wouldn’t leave Reddington’s side. Although his official role was security, Reddington suspected that he was there as much for moral support as physical. Few people truly understood what Lizzie meant to him.

They approached the building a few minutes before it opened and encounter a younger, rugged-looking man waiting outside. He wore tight jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket, all in shades of faded black and gray. His brown hair was tousled, and he hadn’t shaved in a few days. Reddington’s posture tightened as he moved to intercept the man, and Dembe moved closer.

“Tom, leave here,” he said flatly. “You’re not part of this investigation.”

“Like hell I’m not,” Tom growled. “In case you’ve forgotten, she’s my wife.”

“Ex-wife. And going to remain so.”

“That’s not your decision, Raymond.”

“Gentlemen, perhaps we should continue this discussion later,” Pendergast interrupted. “I see that the office is opening.”

Reddington, Tom, and Pendergast crowded around the reception desk, with Dembe hanging behind, alert to any potential dangers. “Good morning,” Reddington said politely. “I wonder if you can help me.” He took out a photo of Elizabeth, taken the evening they spent on the container ship. “Did this woman happen to stop by yesterday?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t reveal client information,” the receptionist replied.

Tom rested his arms on the desk and leaned forward threateningly. “That’s my wife, and she’s missing, and if you had anything to do with it…”

“That’s enough!” Reddington said sharply. “Stand down, Tom. You’re not helping.”

Pendergast glanced at the receptionist’s nametag. “If I may suggest, Ms. Chandera, tempers are running a bit high today. Perhaps it would be best to involve your supervisor. Ms. Grastehan, I believe the company website said?”

“Of course, sir, just one moment.” She picked up the phone and dialed an extension. “Ms. Grastehan, there are a few gentlemen here to see you.”

“I suggest that you let me speak to Ms. Grastehan first,” Pendergast said to Reddington and Tom.

A woman approached from a back room, hair and makeup perfectly done, wearing a light blue-gray skirt suit. “How can I help you?” she asked.

Pendergast showed her his badge. “Special Agent Aloysius Pendergast, FBI. We’re investigating a missing persons report.” He gently took the photo from Reddington. “Can you tell me if this woman visited your business yesterday?”

She shook her head. “Our client files are completely confidential.”

“She may be in danger,” Pendergast pressed.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll need a warrant. People sometimes discover sensitive information using our services, and our business depends on protecting their privacy in every way.”

“Eva Grastehan,” Pendergast said conversationally, “how is your daughter Chamette? She’s graduating high school in the spring, isn’t she? Track star, university scholarship. It’s a shame about the marijuana. Even though she only sold to her friends, it doesn’t take much to rack up a felony charge. It’s fortunate her father was able to place a donation in order to get the charge dropped. Personally, I favor legalization, but I’m not sure the school would see it that way if her misstep were to become public.”

Eva’s face pale, and she pressed her lips together in a tight frown. “Yes, she was here. She came in with a discount code, which was odd because we don’t have any promotions right now. But it looked legitimate, and our policy is to err on the side of honoring such claims.”

“I see,” Pendergast said. “I’ll also need a full copy of your employment records, with photographs. You can download it on to this flash drive while we wait.”

Eva looked irritated but took the flash drive and copied the files to it. “Thank you,” said Pendergast. “You’ve been most helpful.”

Once the were out of earshot, Tom asked, “How did you know that about her daughter? Do you have a history with her?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” Pendergast replied. “I simply make it my business to know as much as possible about anyone from whom I might require assistance during a case. I find that judiciously revealed knowledge can grease the wheels of bureaucracy quite readily. And I do admit a certain lack of patience with organizational stonewalling. It’s a bad habit, but one I find difficult to break.”

***

Back at the car, Tom made as if to enter with Reddington and Dembe. “Excuse me, sir,” Proctor said, blocking his way.

“Come on, I need to be on this case,” Tom insisted. He turned to Reddington. “We both want the same thing, to protect Lizzie.”

“It’s because of your inattention that she needs protection in the first place,” Reddington replied.

“I made a mistake forwarding her that email, I get that. And I should have been more concerned sooner when I didn’t hear from her. But how many times has she been in danger because of your connections? She wouldn’t need to try to dig up dirt on her family if you would just tell her what you know.”

“You don’t understand what you’re speaking of,” Reddington said contemptuously. “In any case, it’s not my decision to make. Dembe and I are guests.”

“I’ll defer to your wishes,” Pendergast said to Reddington. “Only please, decide quickly. We’re beginning to attract attention arguing in the street.”

“Fine,” Reddington said. “Get in. Better to have you where I can keep an eye on you.”

***

Back at the mansion, Pendergast found Constance poring over maps of the city showing not just roads but utilities, transit tunnels, and old logging, mining, and quarrying sites from the earliest days of settlement. “Do you have news, Constance?” Pendergast asked.

She looked up in frustration. “Mime was able to trace the email, and he inserted a worm that installs a tracking program on to any device that checks that account, but the coordinates don’t make any sense. Apparently the sender has been in this area for the last fifteen hours or so – or at least his phone or laptop has - but there’s nothing here!”

“I’m impressed with this Mime’s abilities,” Reddington said. “I can see why he and Aram get along. The information is useful; let’s head out to the site, whatever it is, and hopefully we’ll find Lizzie.”

“A moment,” Pendergast replied. “Better to spend a little extra time now than to waste effort and perhaps lose more time later.” He pulled out the flash drive with the data from Heritage. “Constance, if you could assist me? Which of these employees should we run through the advanced facial recognition algorithms?”

Constance looked over the photos. “That one. Those two. Maybe her. And him.” 

“Yes, I think I agree. I’ll add this one too, though he’s from before your time, so to speak. Are you sure about this one?”

“Not certain she’s a match but I think she’s worth checking,” Constance replied.

“And what about this one? He reminds me of one of the accomplices in the human trafficking case two years ago.”

Constance shook her head. “You’re reacting to the hair color and style, combined with the general skin tone, but that’s superficial. Look at the structural lines of the face; those wouldn’t be easy to alter. We can try him if we don’t get a match, but I don’t think it’s worth spending the computing power up front. This man just has an unfortunate haircut.”

“What are you two on about?” Tom asked. 

“My apologies,” Pendergast replied. “Constance and I were selecting employees who might be matches in Mime’s facial recognition database. You see, I keep images of all the criminals I encounter in my work, including those that may not be convicted. Mime has developed software that can identify faces even after most surgical alterations, based on a number of reference points that are unlikely to be changed. There’s a tradeoff between degree of change in appearance on one hand, and pain, recovery time, and potential loss of function on the other. Mime’s software will identify a match even after ninety-five percent of facial surgeries.”

Pendergast sent the images to Mime, and a few tense hours later, they had a match. “Mr. Reddington, I apologize for asking a personal question, but is Miss Keen pregnant by any chance?”

“She is,” Reddington replied.

“Then I’m afraid she is in very grave danger. We have no time to lose.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the bad stuff starts. CW for violence related to pregnancy and fertility treatments and for general suffering and despair.

Elizabeth screamed for what seemed like forever. Moments or hours before, she’d been taken from the small, hospital-like cell, strapped to a gurney, and shoved into this…room, cave, portal…she wasn’t sure what it was, but it was the last thing she was ever going to experience. When she’d first been abducted from Heritage, she’d foolishly thought she had a chance. Red would notice that she’d missed her check-in, and he’d put all his resources and all his wrath into finding and recovering her. But no one could recover her from this place. Bile rose in her throat as waves of nausea pounded through her. She couldn’t even roll to the side, and she’d drown in her own vomit if someone didn’t come and get her, but no one was coming. The air was getting thinner, and though she knew she ought to calm herself and breathe slowly to conserve oxygen, she found herself panting in terror. Ever since the fire, where she nearly drowned in smoke, she’d had a particular fear of suffocation. 

Her captors hadn’t seemed so horrible at first. Certainly enemies, not allies, on the grounds that they snatched her away and kept her against her will, but the facility was clinical, a medical lab rather than an abandoned warehouse. The staff had been solicitous about her pregnancy and had given her a thorough prenatal checkup, talking all the while about their own children. She’d been hesitant to eat the dinner they provided for fear of being drugged, but the truth was, they could have drugged her at any time, and the meal was good, and she was ravenous. They’d taken her phone, of course, but her cell had a few books, mostly thrillers and suspense, and the bed was comfortable, even if the antiseptic smell was unpleasant. Nonetheless, something about the place was creepy, beyond the obvious issue of being abducted and held against her will. Although the lab seemed high-tech in general, the overhead lights flickered just a bit, making her see fleeting shapes out of the corner of her eye. Several times she could have sworn she heard footsteps, but when she went to the narrow window, no one was there. She was undoubtedly under surveillance, but she also had a visceral feeling of being watched, as if she was observed by living hidden eyes rather than cameras.

And now she was abandoned, strapped down and unable to move, as the sounds of low moans came to her ears. Someone else must be held here as well – another prisoner or lab subject? She strained to determine the direction, but the sound turned to footsteps, fast, then slow, then fast again. The footsteps faded and were replaced with a deep, low rumbling that seemed to vibrate her internal organs. Was she imagining all this? The darkness around her had an almost palpable quality. Not restful or comforting, it felt as if it would devour her. She would be swallowed up into the dark, crushed with its weight. Her muscles grew tense, but she was afraid to relax them because if she made the slightest move, the darkness could get her. Red would never find her here. Even if he found the lab, this darkness was impenetrable.

As she lay stiffly in the dark, she became aware of an odor, damp and musty. Another wave of deep sound ran through her body, capturing all her attention. The smell intensified and took on a sickly sweet quality, the odor of death. Some other victim must have died here, and she was going to die too, and no one would ever find her, and her baby would die in her decaying body, and it was all her fault for trying to dig into her past. A sharp pain seized her uterus, like a stabbing cramp. Her baby… She wanted to cradle the bump, but the restraints kept her arms at her sides. She tried to whisper that it was going to be okay, but no sound would come out of her mouth. The terror overtook her again, and her aching muscles stiffened in the dark.

***

Pendergast insisted that they all get into the car so they wouldn’t lose time while he explained the situation. He reluctantly allowed Dembe to drive instead of Proctor so they could all squeeze into the car. “I dislike driving,” Pendergast explained, “and Constance has never been comfortable behind the wheel.”

“There are too many cars on the road nowadays,” she remarked. “Besides, you’ll need me to navigate.”

“Then I am pleased to accept your assistance,” Dembe smiled. “And I see you have a new outfit.”

Constance glanced down at her dark gray tactical gear. “Yes, well, one must dress for the occasion.”

“Where are we going?” Reddington asked. “Last I remember, Constance said the area was vacant.”

“It was,” Pendergast replied, “but I fear it may be occupied again. The email trace was the first indication. Eight years ago, I took the lead on a case that ended in a raid in that location. I told no one where I’d been, not even Constance, though I did of course share the details of the case with her, so she knew enough to help choose candidates for facial recognition analysis from the company records. That’s the second piece of evidence. The employee called Mathas Royn is supposedly a custodian at Heritage. When I first knew of him, he was a researcher named Jalim Kernswoll at a company called Chromorpha. At that time, they lured their victims by posing as a fertility treatment center.”

“Which would result in a steady source of pregnant women,” Reddington said flatly.

“Precisely.”

“But what do they want?” Tom asked urgently. “Why pregnant women?”

“The information I share must never go beyond this group,” Pendergast warned. “They’re experimenting with a form of energy they call the Source. Despite having solved the case, most of the information about it is classified even beyond my clearance, and the little I know leads to believe that’s for the best. It seems to operate much like infrasound, but to a far greater degree. Past victims reported similar symptoms of exposure: tight, aching muscles; unbearable terror; and a sense of a watching presence. Those were the ones who survived with their minds intact. Several others lost all mental cohesion; they retain only sporadic awareness of their identities and immediate surroundings, more often catatonic or incoherent. And a few simply died of heart failure. All the victims were pregnant women. For reasons that were never explained to me, Chromorpha was particularly interested in the effects of this Source on the fetus. I believe their goal was to produce a live birth that had been exposed in utero, but to my knowledge, they never succeeded. All the survivors miscarried, either during their ordeal or within six weeks of it.”

“That’s a horrible thing to do to a mother and child,” Dembe said. “Don’t worry, Raymond, we’ll get Elizabeth out.”

Reddington nodded with a look of grim determination. 

“We’re approaching the location,” Constance said. “Start keeping an eye out for an unobtrusive place to hide the car."

“That would be easier if we weren’t driving a Rolls-Royce,” Tom pointed out. No one bothered to reply.

They drove up to an isolated, apparently abandoned warehouse. Pendergast winced as Dembe quickly pulled the car into a narrow space between some large electric generators and the building, but he managed it without a scratch.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing this section was like pulling teeth! I'm much more of a dialog person and it's hard for me to write the "doing stuff" parts of the story.

The warehouse door was barred with a heavy chain, but Constance quickly picked the lock and unwrapped the thick metal links. Dembe insisted on taking point as they entered, with Reddington immediately behind him. Pendergast followed, then Tom, with Constance guarding their backs. The hallway was unlit and smelled of cleaning supplies, and the floor tiles were spotless in the dim light filtering through the high windows. 

Dembe crept forward, glancing down corridors to the right and left. He signaled for them to split up, Pendergast, Tom, and Constance to the left while he and Reddington took the right.

Reddington allowed Dembe to take the lead, smiling briefly at his protectiveness. Reddington paid him for protection, of course, but Dembe was one of the very few people he could completely trust, whose l loyalty was personal rather than business. Dembe scanned the area, weapon at the ready, then raised his hand, signaling Reddington to stop. “Something is wrong,” he said.

Reddington got out his gun. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. No one is here, but I feel like I’m being watched.”

“There’s probably surveillance. We’ll have to stay alert.”

Dembe nodded and Reddington followed him down the hall. They came to a series of small rooms with narrow glass windows. They all opened into the hallway, and each contained an impersonal bed, chair, dresser, and shelves. The shelves had a few books, which struck Reddington as odd. Why would the kidnappers provide reading material for their victims? He tried the door and, finding it locked as expected, used his gun to break the glass so he could reach inside and unlock it. The sound seemed to echo down the hallway, and he quickly dodged into the room and pressed his back against the wall in case someone came to check out the intrusion. Despite over two decades of experience in breaking and entering, he felt jumpy. He forced himself to take a few slow, deep breaths, then startled as Dembe came into the room after him. 

“Sorry, Raymond, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Dembe apologized.

“Not your fault. I’m unusually tense.” Reddington glanced at the bookshelf. “All suspense and horror novels. Think they’re trying to set the mood?”

“I suppose it makes sense with what Pendergast told us. If this energy source enhances people’s apprehension, the researchers might want to encourage a fearful mindset.”

“No sign of Lizzie here. Let’s check the other rooms.” Reddington raised his gun and slipped out into the hallway, listening intently for any sign they’d been detected. He thought he heard footsteps approaching, but when he swiveled around, there was no one to aim at. He and Dembe quickly swept the other rooms, finding them all vacant. Reddington resisted the urge to start throwing things. He’d learned to roll with the punches over the years, and he prided himself on staying calm and in control in all circumstances, but this was Lizzie. If he couldn’t protect her, everything he’d done, all the terrible choices were for nothing.

“Raymond, come on, we need to keep searching.” Dembe broke him out of his struggle with despair. “This place is affecting us; we have to fight.”

Reddington nodded and started down the hall. The series of rooms ended before the corridor did; whoever built the place could have included another four rooms like the others. The feeling of dread increased as he approached the end of the hallway. To his right, Dembe seemed to struggle with each step, as though afraid to move. “Looks like the door to a freight elevator,” Reddington said as they reached a metallic panel that took up most of the far wall. “There was a story they used to tell around the campfire, back when I was in Scouts…a man had horrible nightmares about being invited to join the dead, and then one of the people from his dream was on a crowded elevator. It fell to the bottom of the shaft, and everyone on it was killed. I went on a class trip to Toronto in high school, and we stayed in a high rise hotel. Annoyed all the adults playing on the elevators, much to the dismay of our chaperones. One time we packed too many people on the elevator, I don’t know if it was beyond the safety limit, but we like sardines in there. The elevator got stuck between the floors, right between, so you couldn’t even climb out if the door opened. It took an hour and half for us to be rescued, and this girl from my class, Nina Prishmi, shy, bookish…she just panicked. After fifteen minutes, she was in tears, hyperventilating. Took months for her to live it down. But now…I think I know how she felt.”

“That’s an old story,” Dembe said in a strained voice. “They have automatic brakes on the elevators now.”

Footsteps approached the pair from up the hall, real ones this time. As Reddington raised his gun and turned around, Pendergast called out, “Don’t shoot!” The tall, thin man slowly raised his arms in a placating gesture. “You’re close to the Source. The effects will be at their worst for you. Walk towards me and you’ll start to feel better.”'

With an effort of will, Reddington lowered his gun and nodded to Dembe. “That doorway must lead to the area with maximum Source energy,” Pendergast explained. “They probably didn’t have subject rooms this close because the constant exposure would overwhelm their data. From what I’ve been able to determine, the intensity of the Source varies unpredictably. They probably tried to conduct their studies at the times of highest intensity.”

“Lizzie’s not here,” Reddington said numbly. “This is what she went through?”

Pendergast slowly shook his head, “Unfortunately, Agent Keen has likely experienced significantly worse.”

“We’ve got to find her.”

“Our search for clues has been unsuccessful so far. If you haven’t found anything in the subject rooms, perhaps it would be best to assist in exploring the administrative areas.” 

Reddington and Dembe followed Pendergast down the corridor, away from the Source area. As they returned to the main hallway, Reddington heard a lot of water running. He raised his weapon and moved towards the source of the sound, Dembe rushing up to take point. They rounded a corner into a dormitory-style restroom, with toilets and shower stalls. All the showers were turned on, and someone seemed to be in the stall farthest from the entrance. “Who’s there?” Reddington called out.

“Just give me a moment to get dressed again,” Constance replied. “I didn’t want to get my clothes soaked.”

Pendergast caught up and entered the restroom, followed soon after by Tom. “Very clever, Constance,” Pendergast said. “Let us hope Agent Keen had the same thought.”

The hot showers soon coated the mirrors with steam. Although it was faint, in the lower right corner of the farthest mirror from the door, Reddington could read the words “Red Help PA” apparently scrawled on the glass with a finger. Lizzie must have realized the oils from her skin would leave the words readable, at least for a few days. She had been here, and she had been well enough, mentally and physically, to leave a message. And it had been his name, not Tom’s, that she desperately threw out into the world.

The group quickly confirmed that there were no other messages, and the men trooped out so that Constance could turn the showers off in privacy without soaking her clothes. “We know she was here,” Tom said, “and she clearly needs help, but what’s the P A? The state, do you think?”

“That seems most likely,” Pendergast agreed. “She did write in capital letters, as one would for a postal code.”

“But we’ll never find her if we have to search through the whole state,” Tom said.

“We’ll have to search the offices completely,” Dembe said. “Show us where you’ve looked so far.”

Pendergast led the way to the hall opposite the subject rooms and the Source area. “They seem to have placed the administrative areas as far from the Source as they could,” he explained. The offices had the typical desks and chairs, whiteboards and filing cabinets. Other rooms seemed to have been used for medical testing. There were locked drug cabinets and sharps containers, but any significant equipment or information seemed to have been taken. “They must have been tipped off that we were on to them,” Reddington said. “Maybe our visit to Heritage got someone’s attention. They’re in the wind now unless we find something here.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I kind of forgot to write for a bit!

Reddington, Dembe, and Tom tore the entire facility apart, breaking glass and pulling drawers out of filing cabinets in a fevered rush the find any scrap of information. Even Pendergast and Constance chose haste over preservation of the scene. When the last office had been ranscacked and found empty, Reddington slumped dejectedly against the wall. Dembe placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Reddington grasped it like a lifeline. “I have to at least find her body,” he said. “Even if I’ve failed her, she deserves at least that.”

“Don’t give up yet,” Dembe said. “Elizabeth is strong. She may find a way to hold on.”

Reddington squeezed the hand of his only friend, grateful for the words of hope, even if he knew they were ultimately lies.

A gust of wind carrying the smell of garbage followed Tom as he pushed in from outside. He held a large trash bag against his knees as he tore it open and dumped out the contents. “I found something.” A flood of narrow paper strips covered spread over the floor. “It was wedged partway underneath the dumpster. Must have gotten stuck and forgotten.”

Both Reddington and Tom began frantically studying individual paper shreds. Dembe knelt down to help, but Constance protested. “This isn’t going to work. Even if the information we’re looking for is here, it’s going to take too much time to piece it together.”

“Quite right,” Pendergast agreed. “I believe we’ll need to call on Mime for assistance again. Don’t worry about matching up any of the papers, just turn them all writing side up and spread them out. If any are double-sided, place them in one area so we can reverse them quickly after I photograph the first side.”

“Your Mime has software that can piece together the shreds?” Dembe asked.

“Indeed,” Pendergast replied and bent to help. “It will still take a couple hours, but it will be much faster than trying to assemble the records by hand.”

“We’ll head to my jet as soon as you’ve sent the photos,” Reddington said. “As soon as we have a location, we’ll be in the air.”

***

Reddington got everyone settled on the jet and instructed the pilot to keep it ready to take off at a moment’s notice. He handed Tom a shot of something. “I’m not quite sure what this is; the flight attendant has a hobby of purchasing homemade liquor in unlabeled bottles. Still, no one’s died from methanol poisoning yet, and if I wanted to kill you, there are easier ways. You did good work back there.”

“I know how to find things that people would rather keep hidden,” Tom said as he accepted the glass. “If this isn’t a plot to kill me, you’ll have one too.”

“Of course,” Reddington agreed. “Anyone else? Pendergast?”

The FBI agent shuddered. “I think not.” Constance and Dembe also waved from the back to decline.

***

They were safe and had no task for the moment. It would likely be another hour before they heard from Mime, but everyone agreed to stay on the plane rather than risk losing any time. While Reddington was exploring the liquor cabinet, Dembe chose a seat near Constance. “Pendergast seems to be a good man,” he said.

“He is,” Constance agreed. “The best I’ve ever known. Your employer has a rather different reputation. I have to admit your connection is something of a puzzle to me.”

“I would say much the same about you and Agent Pendergast,” Dembe replied. “He called you his ward, yet you are an adult woman. And clearly quite capable of managing for yourself.”

“I was younger when he found me. I had a difficult childhood and some fairly complex trauma that left me ill-equipped for many kinds of interactions. Aloysius gave me the space and resources to adapt, as much as someone like me can do so. I prefer to be with him rather than on my own.”

Dembe smiled. “And I prefer to be with Raymond rather than leave him on his own. He needs someone to look after him.”

Constance shook her head slightly. “He seems perfectly able to look after himself.”

“The kind of life he’s lived doesn’t leave him with many people he can trust. Including himself.” Dembe paused a moment; he rarely told anyone about the depth of his care for Raymond, but he felt that he could trust Miss Greene. “He suffers from the choices he makes, much more than he shows. I remind him that the world is not all darkness, and neither is he.”

***

“Excuse me,” Pendergast said into the hubbub of voices. “I’ve just received word from Mime. We’ll need to land the jet near Scranton, Pennsylvania. Best if we can find an airfield within a reasonable distance of an auto rental. We’ll want to get to this address as unobtrusively as possible.”

Reddington dialed a number on his cell phone. “Hello, Meg, how are you, dear?...Oh, yes, very good…Listen, I need a favor…Have a car sent to the location I’m going to text you. It’s an airfield near Scranton…Something boring and roomy, a minivan maybe…Yes, send two people, one to drop off the car and the other to take them both back. Dembe will drive for us.”

Barely an hour later, they were on their way to the new address, Dembe driving with Constance as his navigator, Reddington and Pendergast behind, and Tom in the third row. “What does this place look like?” Tom called up to Constance.

“There are certain requirements that are constant for any illicit facility,” Pendergast answered instead. “It needs to be large enough for the activity in question, whether involved in storage of stolen goods, unorthodox laboratory work, or enhanced interrogation. It needs to be located in an area where the coming and going of the users will not attract attention, and where any noises will go unnoticed. And it needs to blend naturally into its surroundings. The abandoned warehouse may seem like a cliché, but it keeps finding use for good reason.” Pendergast paused a moment in thought. “In this particular case, the location of the Source gate would take precedence over the other considerations. People seem disinclined, however, to build permanent settlements in areas that fill them with inexplicable dread.”

***

“And here we are,” Constance said.

“This time, they know we’re coming,” Reddington said. “We’re not here to ask questions or gather evidence. We shoot them all, get Lizzie out, and let someone else deal with the bodies. Understood?”

Dembe took point as Constance crouched to pick the lock on the roll-up door. Reddington pulled her behind him as soon as the door began to open. “You’re very gallant,” she whispered, “but I also have a weapon and am an excellent shot.”

“In a moment, dear,” Reddington murmured. “I just didn’t want you to get shot while you were on the ground.”

Dembe went in guns blazing and took out four people before they understood what was happening. Another six flooded in from other parts of the building, and Reddington and Constance dove and rolled as they fired. Pendergast and Tom rushed in and started shooting, going room to room once the immediate threat was neutralized. 

Reddington headed off to search for Lizzie, quickly finding the wing of subject rooms. He swept through them, pausing only long enough to verify her absence from each one, and at last found himself staring down the entrance to the Source chamber. Terror washed over him now that he finally had a moment to catch his breath.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slow writing is slow.

Dembe caught up to Reddington and made as if to enter the Source chamber with him. “Wait here,” Reddington said. “I couldn’t bear if anything happened to you.”

“And I couldn’t bear to lose you,” Dembe said. 

“Please, as your friend, I’m asking you to stand down.”

“And as your friend, I am telling you I will not have you walk in there alone. What if Elizabeth needs more help than you can provide on your own?”

As much as Reddington wanted to keep Dembe safe, he couldn’t deny that Lizzie might need them both. Which Dembe undoubtedly knew very well. He was a gentle and decent man, but not naïve, and certainly able to frame his intentions so that Reddington would be receptive. Reddington gestured broadly for Dembe to come along and crossed the threshold into the Source chamber.

If the attenuated Source exposure had been bad, this was exponentially worse. Reddington was chilled to the bone and his skin was aflame. Noise like a plane taking off drew his hands to his ears in painful reflex, and the silence sent skittering insects on his nerves. The darkness threatened to swallow him whole, he could feel malevolent eyes watching him, could almost hear the footsteps and feel the arms stretching out to grab him. This was the place where he’d pay for his crimes. He’d never find Lizzie, of course; it had been foolish of him to think he could. He’d been ready for his own death, if it would mean her safety, but they were both going to die here, and Dembe too. Everything in his life came down to this complete and utter failure.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as a hand grasped his upper arm. “Steady, Raymond,” Dembe said. “You’re not going to give up. You won’t lose her like this. I am with you.”

Reddington managed a few more steps with Dembe’s gentle pressure on his arm, then buckled at the knees and almost crashed to the floor. Dembe pulled him upright and held him in an embrace, talking in a soothing tone. “Peace, Raymond. You still live. Feel your heart beating, concentrate on that. Don’t pay attention to the false senses. Relax beyond them to what’s really here.”

Holding Dembe tightly, Reddington slowed his breathing and tried to calm himself. Over the years, he’d learned not to panic in tight spots. Someone always wanted to kill him or imprison him, and he was often just one step ahead of losing everything. And Dembe was the one person he could count on, always. He released Dembe, took a breath and gathered himself to move forward, then paused. “Do you hear that?” he asked. “Underneath the noise, like a moaning sound.”

“It’s different,” Dembe agreed. “The noise is everywhere. This voice has a sense of directionality. Forwards and to the right, I think.”

Reddington sped up in the indicated direction and called out. “Lizzie! Hold on, we’re coming for you!” The noise and cold and heat still filled him with pain, and the odor of decay filled him with fear for Lizzie’s safety. He lost track of the quiet moaning several times, often relying on Dembe to pick it up again and point the way. 

At last he collided with something cold and metallic, banging his knee in the process. He grabbed for it in the darkness, ran his hands up to feel something soft stretched out horizontally beyond him, a cot or a stretcher. He grasped the metal rail with one hand and slowly felt around on the edge of the cushion with the other until he reached human skin. An ankle. “Lizzie?” he asked quietly. He heard no response beyond a tortured moan, and without thinking, he grabbed the knee to shake her into wakefulness. His hand came away sticky, and his confused mind picked out the bitter scent of blood from the false senses flooding his awareness. Holding the edge of the mattress for balance, he worked his way around the stretcher to the occupant’s face. “Lizzie. Lizzie, we’re going to get you out of here.”

A pained voice fluttered uneasily. “Red…you found me…I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Lizzie.” He kissed her forehand and stroked her hair. “Dembe and I are going to take care of you now.”

“Dembe too…so sorry…no way out…all going to die here.”

Dembe placed a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “None of us are going to die here.” He pushed experimentally on the metal rail. “Wheels. It’s a stretcher. You push, I’ll cover you.”

Reddington gave Dembe’s hand a squeeze and took charge of the stretcher. Dembe walked just ahead, staying within earshot. Although Reddington was enormously relieved to find Lizzie alive, his worry over her state consumed his attention, and he found himself stumbling in the darkness. Lizzie reached up and grasped his hand. “I’m so scared. It’s so cold and everything hurts, and I think they’re going to find us any minute and lock us in here forever.”

Reddington shared Lizzie’s feelings. Every step was like pushing through glue. It reminded him of a sci-fi novel he’d read once, bored on a plane, where the characters had to walk a maze that seemed to want to kill them. But Lizzie needed him confident, so he put on his worldly persona and launched into a story, punctuated by grunts and gasps. “Years ago, I was on the run in Alaska…I had been dropped off in a prop plane and was alone on foot in the wilderness…making my way to a safe house in the mountains… It was winter, not the solstice, but close… I made a wrong turn… Wound up at the bottom of two thousand foot climb at sunset… It was cold, and getting colder… No one knew where I was… There was nothing for it but to climb and retrace my steps… I hadn’t had time to gather enough cold-weather gear when I left… I had a coat, a hat, hiking boots, thin gloves…about what you’d wear for a winter day in the city… I climbed back up; thankfully there was a bit of a trail, but it was full dark before I reached the top… I had a weak flashlight that kept flickering out… I’d leave it on long enough to see the next few steps then turn it off to save the battery… Covered twelve miles that way… When I finally got to the safe house, I kept dropping the keys… My hands were so numb, it took me five tries to open the lock…would have been just the thing for me to die out there after that long, cold walk… When I finally got in, I didn’t even eat anything, though I should have been starved…just soaked in a hot bath until I finally stopped shivering and felt warm again…then crawled into bed… When my contact picked me up two days later, I was still spending most of my time in the bed…not sick, but just trying to avoid losing any body heat…severe hypothermia, I was later told…but at the time, on the trail, the only thing to do was just keep going.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Thanks to everyone who read!

Truth be told, the Source chamber was far worse than that night in Alaska had been. He was probably in less actual danger if they got out quickly enough, though he worried about the psychological stress Lizzie had experienced, left there for who knew how long. Getting turned around in the wilderness in the winter had been unpleasant, and maybe even dangerous, considering the hypothermia, but he hadn’t actually felt frightened. With the Source pounding on him, his body constantly tensed in fear, even as he tried to force his mind to fight it.

After an interminable trudge through the dark and cold and heat and pain, Dembe called out to stop. “We’re back at the entrance, but it must have closed behind us.”

“It was open when we got here,” Reddington protested. “We just walked right in.”

“I know. Maybe some sort of fail-safe. I’ll see if I can pry it open.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no light and you have nothing to use as a lever.”

“I don’t plan to die here. And I don’t plan for you or Elizabeth to die here either.”

“I’m sorry, Dembe, you’re right. This place is getting to me. Let’s see what we have.” Even without the influence of the Source, however, they seemed to be trapped. The door employed a sliding mechanism, and the two pieces that blocked their way had only a hairline gap between them. A fingernail couldn’t fit through, let alone a crowbar if they had one. 

“Isn’t there any sort of control panel?” Reddington asked, frustrated.

“It’s probably only on the outside,” Dembe said.

“Nothing for an emergency? I’m amazed anyone would risk getting trapped in here.” 

“There’s nothing,” Dembe said again.

Reddington backed up a few steps, then charged forward and threw himself bodily at the door. “Raymond, stop, you’ll only hurt yourself,” Dembe said. Reddington shoved off Dembe’s restraining hand and attacked the door a second time.

Dembe shrugged. “Very well, if you insist on turning yourself black and blue, so will I.” He ran full speed at the door, slamming his shoulder hard into the center. “That really hurts.”  
“We need something better,” Reddington said. “Come help me with Lizzie’s restraints. Gently, now.”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Dembe sighed, but he helped Reddington move Elizabeth to the ground. She barely stirred as Reddington lowered her and brushed a lock of hair from her face.   
“Both of us now,” Reddington said. “I’ll take the left side, you take the right.” Hunching down to grip the low handrails, they crashed the gurney into the door like a battering ram. The force of the collision shot painfully down their shoulders, but they tried again, and again, and again.

A loud knock sounded on the other side, followed by a muffled shout. “Reddington? Dembe? Are you there?”

“Yes, we’re in here,” Reddington shouted back.

“Stand well back. I’m going to blow the door.”

“Hang on just a minute,” Reddington said. He and Dembe quickly lifted Lizzie back on to the gurney and wheeled her back a good distance from the door. “Okay, we’re ready now.” A minute passed, and then an explosion warped the door and threw chunks of concrete into the room. Reddington narrowly missed being struck on the head. The resulting gap in the door couldn’t accommodate the gurney, but it was just wide enough for them to pass Elizabeth through on the cushion. On the other side, Tom and Pendergast made sure to set her down softly. 

Reddington crawled through and immediately fell to his knees beside Lizzie, lifting her hand and pressing it into his cheek. “It’s okay, Lizzie, I’ve got you now. You’re going to be okay.”

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” Constance said. “We’ll need to determine what her injuries are. I have some medical training, if you’ll allow me?”

“Of course, of course, thank you,” Reddington said, not moving from Lizzie’s side until Dembe grasped his shoulder and pulled him up.

“Let Miss Greene work, Raymond. I’m sure she’ll take good care of Elizabeth.” He turned to Pendergast. “And thank you for rescuing us, Agent Pendergast.”

“I do find that C-4 is handy to include as part of any mission kit,” Pendergast replied.

***

“She’s awake now,” Constance said, stepping out of the examination room that she used as a makeshift surgery. “She’s stable enough to be moved, but she should be checked at an actual hospital. Most of the bleeding was from the uterus; I’m afraid the fetus was already dead.”

Reddington nodded and rushed to Lizzie’s side. She lifted her head weakly. “Red…the baby…”

“I know, Lizzie. I’m so sorry.” He squeezed her hand and blinked away tears. “I’m so glad you’re safe, but I’m so sorry we couldn’t save your child.”

“It was horrible in there. I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. I really thought I was going to die. And I don’t know what it did to my baby. It was cold and hot and then there was a loud noise, and then this bouncing inside me, and a horrible pain, and then stillness, and I knew she was gone.”

Reddington murmured soothing words and patted Lizzie’s shoulder. Constance had explained that the undeveloped nervous system of the fetus hadn’t been able to tolerate exposure to the Source, and the fetal death in the presence of the Source had set off a cascade reaction in Lizzie’s system, leading to dangerous blood loss. It remained to be seen whether she would be able to have children in the future. And of course, no future child could replace one she’d lost. He watched as Lizzie drifted back to sleep, overcome by the pain meds Constance had provided.

They’d need to get out of here quickly now that Lizzie was stable. Reddington would use his own medical crew to monitor her recovery, but for the moment, the priority was to be far away whenever the deaths of all the researchers here were discovered. Not that he felt the slightest guilt about killing them after what they’d done to Lizzie and what they’d taken away from her. He gently kissed her forehead and almost ran into Tom at the doorway.

“I want to see her,” Tom said.

“She’s resting,” Reddington replied. “Let’s take a walk.”

“After I check on my wife.” Tom moved to push past Reddington, but Reddington grabbed the top of his arm forcefully.

“Ex-wife. You can talk to her on our way back. She needs to sleep. And you and I need to talk.”

“You always have to control everything, don’t you?” Tom replied. “You can’t tolerate anything you’re not in charge of.”

“On the contrary, my line of work is full of variables I don’t control,” Reddington said, “but I do insist that my associates keep the terms we settle on, something you’ve never been able to understand. Speaking of uncontrolled variables, though, how could you let this happen to her?”

“That’s not fair,” Tom said, “I had no way to know it was a trap. No one could, unless they were as paranoid as you.”

“I don’t mean the kidnapping, I’ll grant that was a surprise. I mean the pregnancy. You know what her life has been like; you had to know how vulnerable a pregnancy would make her, but you went ahead.”

“I’m not going to apologize for having sex with my wife. And it was consensual.”

“Ex-wife. And I’m not accusing you of rape, just of unforgivable negligence. I know the rise of abstinence only sex education has led to a generation of uninformed teenagers, but you’re old enough to have learned how this condition can be prevented.”

“I assumed she was on the pill.”

“Exactly. You assumed. You didn’t ask, you didn’t suggest using condoms to make sure, you didn’t think for one minute of forgoing your pleasure to make sure of her safety. And that’s why you’re not worthy of her.”

“This is ridiculous,” Tom said. “And absolutely none of your business.”

“Lizzie’s safety has always been and always will be my business. I hoped she’d gotten you out of her system, but despite my pleas, she still has poor judgment where you’re concerned. But from this point on, you’d better be certain of the birth control. You will not endanger her this way again, or I will find a way to hold you responsible.”

The End


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got so engrossed in finally finishing this thing that I forgot a scene I'd meant to include! So here it is, a little Easter egg for anyone who's current with the Pendergast universe.

Epilogue

Several days later…

Dembe stood to greet Reddington as he entered their shared flat. “How is Elizabeth doing?”

“As well as can be expected,” Reddington replied as he took off his hat. “She’s devastated about losing the child.”

“Of course. And you are devastated for her.”

Reddington pierced Dembe with a guarded expression and forcibly lightened his tone. “The good news is that the miscarriage didn’t do any permanent damage. Lizzie will still be able to have other children if she wants to.” Though hopefully not with Tom, he didn’t add aloud. He poured himself a drink and sat down in the armchair across from Dembe. “You seemed quite taken with Constance during our little adventure.”

“Yes, I very much admired Miss Greene. She was captivating in a way few women have been for me. I actually invited her to dinner when we got back to Agent Pendergast’s home.”

“When will you be meeting her?” Reddington asked.

“I won’t.” Dembe shook his head ruefully. “She told me that she was flattered but that she’s too old for me.”


End file.
